


You taste like Strawberries.

by AdorableDisaster



Series: The world needs more Rowdy 3. [5]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Amanda and Martin run the show, Campfire, DrummerWolf, Emotions, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Group Sex, Het, I feel dirty and I think I like it., It's all love and breaking stuff, Multi, Orgasm, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings, Strip Tease, The Rowdy 3 are amazing, Vaginal Sex, feelings have flavors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:24:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorableDisaster/pseuds/AdorableDisaster
Summary: "Amanda didn’t know how long she’d been with the Rowdy 3.  It felt like 3 minutes and 3 years all at once.  She couldn’t remember a time she felt so free.  Not even before her illness really took over, ‘cause she’d been so young then.  No, this was the first time she’d been free as an adult, and she loved it."In which Amanda puts on a little show for Martin, in front of a campfire and the other Rowdies.





	You taste like Strawberries.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written group sex before, and while this is a least 80% Martin/Amanda, the other 3 are present and do get to engage. I've only recently discovered this ship thanks to some other lovely authors, and I'm a little surprised at how much I dig it.
> 
> Please leave comments with suggestions or constructive criticism. I know my tenses sometimes slip, but I'm working on it. Praise is always welcome too, of course ;) 
> 
> Title and strawberry inspiration from Willow in Buffy <3.

Amanda didn’t know how long she’d been with the Rowdy 3. It felt like 3 minutes and 3 years all at once. She couldn’t remember a time she felt so free. Not even before her illness really took over, ‘cause she’d been so young then. No, this was the first time she’d been free as an adult, able to make her own choices, decisions, and mistakes. She loved it. 

Cross, Gripps, and the ever-manic Vogel danced around the transcan fire. They’d fed well that night. Some high school jocks had been harassing a girl outside the local hangout spot, and after a few well-placed swings with a hammer, bat, and bar, there’d been one prone and whining idiot for each of her beloved boys.

Amanda opened a beer and handed it to Martin. As usual, he sat on the pulled out seat of the van, surveying his little domain as the others partied. He lifted his chin in thanks and took a long draw from the cool bottle.

She stood just to the side of the seat, enjoying the same view he did. As far as she could tell, little had changed with her joining the band. They still slept where they fell, though they occasionally smelled better, as she encouraged them to wipe the grime and grit from their faces more often. Martin’s white hair almost shone in the firelight. Amanda smiled again and reached out. She let him see her movements, slow and deliberate. It was never smart to startle a predator.

She ran her fingers through his hair, letting her nails rake over his scalp. Martin leaned into the touch, flames reflecting on his glasses. Amanda smiled down on her devil. The devil who’d saved her. 

When you lived with a pack of empathivores (yes, she’d made that word up), you learned to live without much privacy. While they didn’t exactly read her mind, they Rowdy ones knew what she was feeling often before she’d had a chance to think it. Despite being raging assholes and unconvicted felons, they were infinitely polite with her. They never used their skills to manipulate or coerce her. Mostly they just waited for her to realize what she was feeling, though Vogel occasionally blurted things out. Somehow, she didn’t mind. She wasn’t used to such honesty. Most people in her life treated had her like a bird with a broken wing. Fragile and already half destroyed. Not only did these Rowdy bastards actually treat her with respect, but when she did have an attack, they didn’t panic or flail or cry, or do any of that unhelpful shit. They just fuckin’ handled it. 

She wasn’t sure at what point they’d transitioned from friends, to brothers, to something more, but she was glad they were here now. After their discussion about the “flavors” of emotions, it was only a matter of time before she asked what she tasted like. Each man had a slightly different answer, but everyone was in the ballpark of a salty fried food. While her attacks were terror for her, they left the boys both full of delicious energy, and also happy that they had helped the 5th member of the Rowdy 3. In an odd way, that would probably have driven her therapist to abandon his couch and puppets for good, Amanda had never felt safer. 

They’d talked about anger too, and after a brief conversation about her lying-good-for-nothing-dickbag of a brother, the boys had proclaimed her a blend of tabasco, curry, sriracha, and smooth, sweet chili. It was the last statement, from Martin, that had gotten her heart racing. 

“Slow burn.” Was all he said before passing her a joint, the customary relaxation tool now that she’d joined the caravan. The other 3 Rowdies looked away, smiling amongst themselves. There was no jealousy between them, but Martin was leader in all things. They took their cues with deference, and as much respect as manic government experiment rejects could manage. 

It wasn’t long after that conversation that they’d started sleeping together. Not every night, and not every Rowdy every time, but everyone felt loved and included. Sometimes the boys would pair up or strip down without Amanda being in the mix, and she was welcome to watch, join in, or walk away - whatever suited her in the moment. 

Of course, Martin had been the first. That was the way of the Rowdies. But once that line was crossed, everyone partook whenever it suited them. 

For the first time, Amanda felt utterly accepted. This wasn’t the relationship she’d pictured in homeroom daydreams, but in some ways it was better. She was never gonna be a white picket fence kind of girl. That dream bubble had popped, and now she wasn’t sure she even missed it. She’d learned when she was in her teens that her medication would make her infertile. It had seemed like a hell of a sacrifice, sure, but she’d also considered how she’d feel if she passed this bullshit condition on to her kids someday. There was no way she wanted to take that risk, so the loss became a kind of win, as long as she thought that she was getting better. Now Todd had taken that hope away from her. Asshole. Colossal gaping asshole. 

Strong hands came up to rest on her hips. 

“Hey there, drummer girl.” Martin’s voice slipped into her thoughts like snake into water. “Where’d you go?” 

He’d felt her anger swell, for sure. They all had. Amanda glanced over her shoulder, smiling at the boys who’d slowed to a lazy mosh around the fire, in case there was actual trouble inbound. 

“It’s nothing.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Todd was practically nothing to her now, and she saw no potential for that to change.

Martin just grunted, accepting her response for what it was.

“I was thinking though.” Her hands started moving again, running over his scalp and down to trace along his ears and jawline. A low growl of pleasure rumbled through Martin’s chest. His head lolled back and he looked up at her with a lazy smile.

“Pray tell, ladybug.” His hands squeezed her sides a bit, inviting her to continue.

“You’re all well fed, I know.” Amanda stepped backwards, breaking the contact. Martin might have whimpered if he was a lesser animal. “But there’s always room for dessert.” Her fingers played with the hem of her shirt.

His teeth snapped in a feral smile.

She didn’t even care if it was cliche - it had gotten her point across. 

“Always.” Martin slid forward, reaching for her again, but Amanda held up a hand. He stopped instantly, eyes hidden behind the dancing flames on his glasses. She lifted one combat-boot clad foot and planted it firmly on his chest. Small as she was, Amanda was good at making herself powerful now, and the boys encouraged it. 

She could feel the stares of the others as they watched the encounter unfold. They continued their scuffles and whirls around the fire, ever vigilant in their way, both for interruption or an invitation. 

Martin leaned back against the ripped pleather slowly, relishing in the feel of her heavy tread against his chest. He snapped his teeth again, and Amanda just smiled. She looked down at her boot, then back at him, raised an eyebrow, and then he understood. Calloused hands reached for the thin black laces, and he removed the large shoe and pink sock with calm deliberation. He very nearly brought her petite toes to his lips, but Amanda pulled her naked foot away and set it back on the ground. Martin knew better than to lean forward this time. Instead, he lifted his chin, giving her a clear target, and she placed her other booted foot squarely on his chest, careful to avoid his mismatched beard. 

Again, he removed her shoe and sock, and again she pulled her naked foot away before he could properly appreciate the warmth of her skin. Amanda stood before him, lit in the yellow glow of a trashcan fire, bare feet firm on the packed earth. She looked like a punk goddess, ready to be worshipped with cheap beer and violent lyrics. His kind of woman. 

Amanda’s hands fell to her belt, and Martin licked his lips. Her long fingers undid the buckle slowly. He swore he could hear every tooth of the zipper leaving its partner as she teased him. She smiled and wiggled her hips just a little, dancing to the music in her head.

Again, a low growl rolled out of him. Amanda was certain she could feel it trickle up her legs and spread across her body. She leveled a glare at her primal mate, challenging him. Could he stay still and let her work her magic? Or would his patience fail and break the spell? What was stronger, his willpower or his lust? 

Amanda raised an eyebrow and hooked her thumbs into her pants. In one surprisingly smooth motion for how tight the jeans were, the black denim slid to the ground. The drummer girl stepped out of the pooled fabric, turning as she did so. She bent at the waist, slowly gathering her shed clothing and tossing it to the side. Still bent, she looked up at the other three fourths of her audience. Cross and Gripps were smiling and nodding, clearly pleased and impressed by her performance, even it if wasn’t entirely for them. Vogel actually clapped a little, his posture exaggeratedly straight as though he was an art critic and not a vagrant in a stolen jacket. 

She winked at the boys and rolled her fingers under her panties. These ones were pink too, with little white daisies. They looked a little ridiculous under her death metal Tshirt, but no one in the present company gave two shits. 

Martin’s eyes were fixated on the two perfect silky halves of Amanda’s ass. He knew, by most definitions, he was a bad person. He did bad things. He fed off other people’s fear, for fuck’s sake. He had no idea what insane elder god had seen fit to bring this perfect specimen of liberated womanhood into his life, but he’d gladly pour out a six pack of tribute on the next altar he could find. 

Amanda’s panties were in her hand. She straightened slowly, and he wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, or if she was actually glistening. The sheer idea made him nearly lose control. His hands wrapped around the curve of the busted seat on either side of his knees, nails poking holes in the cheap upholstery. 

Amanda turned again, facing him now. She pulled at the hem of her shirt, covering herself in a display of mock modesty that made his pulse thrum in his veins. He felt the pleather give under his hands when she moved toward him. 

Without a word, Amanda reached for his belt. She hadn’t even kissed him yet, and he honestly couldn’t tell if that made this delicious torture better or worse. It probably took her all of 30 seconds to undo his fly and free his straining erection from its cloth prison, but Martin was sure it had been at least an hour of touching and teasing. 

He watched, eyes hidden and jaw clenched, as his wanton drummer girl leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on the head of his penis. His groan of pleasure turned to a growl of desperation as she stood up again. His heart was pounding. His blood was hot and racing. If he’d had permission, he’d have thrown her in the dirt and rutted her like the beast he was til they were both screaming and spent. 

Another time. There would be another time. This time was hers, and he’d gladly submit, even if it was practically killing him. 

Amanda slid his pants down just enough. Her nails raked along his exposed flesh, and goosebumps spread across his thighs. 

Martin was confident he’d never begged for a thing in his life… but he was dangerously close to begging. A whine choked in his throat. It seemed that was enough to gain his salvation though. 

Amanda straddled his lap. He felt the heat of her press against him, and his head dropped forward to touch hers.

“Martin?” Amanda’s voice was soft and low. Her words were just for him.  
“Would you,” she reached up and took his glasses, looking into his eyes for the first time since they’d lit the fire. She tucked the glasses onto her face, then slid them up unto her skull, effectively restraining her dark hair.  
“Would you hold me?” She leaned down then, and brushed her lips against his. “Please?” She knew exactly what she was doing to him. Little minx. 

He might have died a little at that moment, but he wasn’t a doctor, so the world may never know. What he did know, was the the sound he made was barely human. Her request, he knew, was actually permission, because at a moment like this, the leader of the pack was all but powerless against her. 

Strong hands flew up to wrap around her back. They slid up, under her shirt, and down, to cup her supple ass. She’d gained some weight on steady diet of beer and truck stop food, and the extra softness suited her. 

Martin buried his face in her chest, hard enough that she could feel the scrape of his beard through the thin cotton of her shirt. She rarely wore a bra these days. If you were going to live a live of Rowdy crime, you might as well be comfortable.

“Always.” he said again, his words muffled against her pert breasts. She’d complained that they were small. He’d insisted they were perfect. He nipped at her over the logo of the concert series, and she leaned back to give him better access. 

The arch of her back pressed her slit against his cock, and a shockwave rolled through them both. She rocked, slick with need, and more than a little turned on at her own behavior. Amanda Brotzman had never been this person. Passionate, and a little domme-ish, with reckless abandon and all that. Confident in her body and abilities. It was amazing what a few months on the lam with a handful of doting renegades could do for a girl’s self esteem.

She wrapped one hand around his neck to keep her balance, and Martin tilted back to counter her lean. Her other hand slid down between them, and took a hold of him. With a shift of her hips, and a deep gasp, he was inside her. 

Martin roared. 

It was hot and wet and close, and home. He tried to hold still, tried to remember that this was her show tonight, and he was simply her willing volunteer. His hips twitched in a desperate plea for friction. 

Amanda felt his need, heard it in his voice, registered the spasm of his hips. 

“Please, Martin.” Was she whispering or shouting? He couldn’t tell. “Will you fuck me?” 

He was on his feet before his brain registered what his legs were doing. One hand held Amanda’s ass, keeping her pressed against him as he remained sheathed to the hilt inside her. The other hand ripped his pants down, giving him just enough freedom of movement to get them both back on the seat. It was broad enough for his knees to tuck against the back seam, and his hands released her to grip where one of the headrests used to be. Amanda was almost folded against him. Her shoulders pressed into the fabric, still warm with the heat from Martin’s body. Her head tilted over the back of the seat, giving her a clear view of the night sky and her frenzied partner. He drove into her. With barely enough space to fully retreat, he focused on depth and strength with his thrusts. Her small gasps of ecstasy cut into him like delicious knives, and his mouth watered. 

Martin licked his thumb and dropped it between them. He found the seat of her pleasure with practiced aim, and rubbed in the tight circles that drove her mad. 

Amanda felt the waves of what promised to be a particularly epic orgasm begin to roll over her. She’d teased them both long enough that her release was imminent. She opened her eyes and met Martin’s gaze. He smiled through clenched teeth, as eager for her climax as his own. 

Amanda raised her arms and curled her fingers in once, beckoning. She did her best to give a slight whistle. Instantly, her boys were there.

Hands found hers. Lips found hers. Someone’s hand curled in her hair the way she liked and tugged at her scalp. Another hand pinched a nipple through her thin shirt. Another pulled up the hem just enough that Martin could fully watch as he continued to thrust into her. Hands touched him as well, but he only had eyes for Amanda. 

He slid his thumb down to collect enough of her own juices to continue in his quest. Her whimper of loss told him just how close she was. He slid his free hand to her hip and held her tight against him as his deft and calloused hand brought a screaming orgasm down upon her. 

Amanda’s hand fisted in someone’s shirt. Her mouth pressed against someone’s neck. Her other hand was clenched onto Martin’s arm and was sure to leave bruises. 

Energy rolled up and out of her. Shivers ran through the four of them as her pure sweet flavor poured over them. 

Without a word, three pairs of hands retreated and Martin found himself holding a beautifully spent drummer girl. She smiled up at him, eyelids heavy and low. Her hand found her mouth, and she played with a lip that someone had bitten. 

“Martin.” Again, a whisper. 

“Yea, Drummer?” He moved slowly inside her, rocking his hips in a glorious rhythm.

“Howl for me.” She smiled with her eyes closed.

He moaned and fell forward, head resting on her shoulder.

“Please.” She breathed into his ear. 

A few more thrusts, and he reached up suddenly, his bicep straining as he held himself steady. His other hand held her waist, keeping her locked to him as he did as she asked. Martin threw his head back and howled through his climax, spending himself with fervor inside her. Three answering howls came from farther away. A pack celebrating a night well spent.

Martin’s head came forward again, his eyes glazed with passion and exhaustion. Amanda smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. They stayed like that for a moment, catching breaths and letting their spastic heartbeats return to some semblance of normal. 

With a little awkward maneuvering, they sacrificed her shirt to the gods of clean up, and returned his pants to a respectable position. 

Without speaking, Martin swept Amanda into his arms and carried her to the van. They scrounged someone's shirt for her to sleep in, he dropped his vest on the floor. There, lying on a beer-stained rug under a hideous paisley blanket, she finally kissed him. Martin slid his glasses off her head and tossed them into the driver’s seat. He needed them for driving, but not to see how incredibly lucky he was. That was plain as the smile on her face. 

"Strawberries." He nuzzled the word into her neck. "You taste like strawberries, my drummer girl."

**Author's Note:**

> These works are in a series mostly for some continuity, and to help people find the concept of the flavors without having to explain it in every fic. The "part" number that they are does not correspond to their timeline, it's simply the order in which I wrote and uploaded them. Chronologically, this is how my headcanon works, but I'm open to suggestion/interpretation;  
> Salty, Spicy, and Sweet is #1.  
> Good Mornings, Good Nights is #2.  
> You Taste like Strawberries is #3.  
> Bleedin' Badass is outside of the timeline - it fits kinda anywhere.  
> And Mother of Rowdies (I really need a better title...) is at the end of the list probably. I don't really have an updating schedule for that one, so it'll happen as I think of it.
> 
> Regardless of the order, they mostly work as stand alone fics, and I hope you enjoy them. My sincere thanks for reading!


End file.
